


Ketchup and mustard

by Hypatia_66



Series: Misleading appearances [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Challenge Response, Community: section7mfu, Gen, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-11 09:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15312951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: Short Affair challenge. Prompts: drive, fortune, greenIllya is kidnapped, loses his memory and is unable to answer questions





	1. Chapter 1

Illya took the subway in the early morning to Upper Manhattan to visit a dead drop and collect its contents. The pick-up was successful and, looking like any other commuter, he made his way back to the subway station where he bought a newspaper to read on the way to UNCLE headquarters.

Several people joined the train. He glanced up as woman sat beside him and became absorbed in her own newspaper, noting in passing that she was a little older than himself, quite handsome, with chestnut hair. Then he ignored her until she began to wriggle.

“Excuse me,” she said, turning to him. “I think my necklace is caught in something at the back. I wonder – could you help me?”

“Certainly,” he said, and twisted in his seat to look at the clasp. “It must be something else,” he said, “I can’t see anything caught in it.”

She smiled at him and patted him on the knee, catching him a little sharply with her ring. “Thank you for looking, anyway.” The smile he returned faded and he fell sideways so that his head rested on her shoulder.

No-one paid any attention but the woman patted his knee again anyway, as if he were known to her, and continued to read her newspaper.

Illya came to a few minutes later and, finding himself in this embarrassing position, hurriedly sat up, shaking his head to clear it. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t usually go to sleep on the subway.”

He rose as the train pulled into Midtown and staggered a little. The woman took his arm and helped him out into the street, where he sagged against her, mumbling. A cab immediately and miraculously pulled up beside them. “You obviously bring good fortune,” she said but he paid no attention, being all but unconscious, and unaware of being bundled into it.

<><><><> 

He awoke in a dimly-lit room painted an institutional pale green. He was lying on a bed, stripped of most of his clothes. Where was he? Who was he? Who had taken his clothes and why? He couldn’t remember anything.

Needing the bathroom, he tried to sit up and found he was tied to the bed. “Hey!” he called. “Hey! Is anyone there?”

Footsteps crossed an institutionally polished floor. “What d’you want?” said a large brawny man.

He peered up at him. “I need the bathroom,” he said.

He was half carried to the bathroom but the goon waited outside. Relieved in more ways than one, he examined himself in the mirror. The pupils of his eyes were enlarged, he was very pale and the inside of his mouth felt as if he had been eating sand.

When he emerged, the goon took him back to the bed and retied him to it. “What am I doing here?” he asked.

There was no reply but after he had gone, a woman entered. A faintly familiar face, framed in chestnut hair, looked down at him – where had he seen her before?

 “Who are you, and why am I here?” he said.

“Don’t be disingenuous, my dear,” she said. “We want what you have. Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“What you collected from Fort Tryon Park.”

As he had no recollection of having gone there, he was unable to supply an answer. She didn’t believe him. “You took the subway from 190th Street. You sat next to me – you remember that, I’m sure.”

He looked blank. “Not really,” he said, quite truthfully.

She was exasperated. “The dose I gave you was nothing. You _must_ remember.”

He shook his head. “I’d like to go now. Can I have my clothes?”

“Not until we’ve properly searched them again. You can keep the underpants on, we’ve searched _them_.”

He gulped. Who had searched them? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but she said, “I searched them myself,” and smiled down at her hands. He swallowed again.

“I have also searched your mouth,” she continued. That accounted for the sand, no doubt.

“Can I have a drink?”

She pointed to the glass on the nightstand beside him. He looked at it suspiciously. “What’s in it?”

“Just water, Mr Kuryakin, just water. We need your mind to be clear.”

He drank some and then finished the glass. “Can I have something to eat now?”

“When you’ve told us where you have concealed it.”

“Concealed what?”

“Mr Kuryakin, we know you’re a good actor. But if you don’t tell us, we also know how to break you.”

“I am not acting. I cannot remember anything.”

She stared at him hard. He stared back, his blue eyes a little glazed. “I guess you’ll know me again,” he said.

“I’ve known you a long time, Mr Kuryakin.”

“You have?” He looked so baffled that she almost believed him.

“I’ll bring you something to eat. Maybe that will help.” She walked away and out of the door. There was something familiar. Maybe he _did_ know her from somewhere. She seemed to know his name, which was more than he did, so in his right mind he presumably knew hers.

<><><><> 

Illya was very late. “Yes, I’m just a little concerned,” said Waverly to Illya’s worried partner. “He would have taken the subway. Shouldn’t have taken him more than 45 minutes – an hour at the most.” He tapped his pipe on the map of Manhattan behind him.

“Why wouldn’t he have taken a cab?”

“The subway is a considerable saving, Mr Solo. You might consider it sometime.”

A call came through. Napoleon heard him grunt and close the call. “Mr Kuryakin was seen being bundled into a cab by a woman.”

“What did this … profligate lady look like?”

“Dark hair, medium height, fortyish, good looking, whatever that means,” said Waverly.

“They could be anywhere by now,” said Napoleon.

<><><><> 

The woman brought him a sandwich, full of ham, cheese and salad. He bit into it gratefully then quickly removed it from his mouth. “Something wrong?” said the woman.

“Did you have to put ketchup and mustard on it?” he said and, as the words left his tongue, his memory clicked into place. He remembered who he was, how often he had said it before, and to whom. She saw the change in his face.

“I see that you can tell me now,” she said.

“No, Dr Egret, I shan’t be doing that,” he said and saw the change in hers.

<><><><>

To be continued... 


	2. Chapter 2

Napoleon’s first thought was to talk to whoever it was had seen Illya kidnapped. Who was it and why had they thought to report it?

It turned out to be the eleven-year-old son of a Section 3 agent who had spotted that the cab didn’t have New York licence plates and wasn’t the right colour yellow. Inheriting his father’s propensities as a spy, he had been suspicious and had contacted his parent. The description of Illya had been enough to cause his father to alert Mr Waverly.

<><> 

The boy was more than willing to be interviewed. “Can you describe what you saw?” Napoleon asked him.

“Yes sir!” the boy said. “This little blond guy came out of the subway kinda draped over this dame – lady, pardon me, sir. He looked sick, couldn’t walk, just staggered, so I watched to see what would happen. Then this cab came outa nowhere and stopped right beside ‘em and the dame – lady – pushed the little guy into it and took him away.”

“Which direction?”

The boy didn’t know – the cab just went with the flow of traffic; could have turned off anywhere.

“Did you see the licence plate?”

He hadn’t been close enough to see the number but thought it was a New Jersey registration – Newark, maybe. Napoleon brightened. Not far away then. “You did well, son. Thanks,” he said.

“Is the blond guy an important man?”

“Yes. Very,” said Napoleon. “Now, we’ll collect your dad and take you down to the commissary for a bowl of ice cream. Then I’ll have to go.”

As Napoleon turned towards the door, the boy stood up and said, “Sir, one more thing. He dropped his newspaper and couldn’t catch it. Seemed kinda upset about it so I picked it up when they’d gone. You want to give it back to him when you see him?”

<><><><> 

Illya was asleep. The brawny guard sat stolidly in a chair by the door watching him. He suffered from insomnia himself and would have liked to ask how the guy did it – he seemed to drop off without effort. He was also impressed by Illya’s ability to detect Dr Egret’s footstep and wake up the moment she appeared. She was a creepy woman so he was almost inclined to feel sympathetic towards the young man on the bed who had been mishandled in various ways by her.

Illya woke and turned to look at him. “I’m hungry,” he said. The ketchup-and-mustard contaminated sandwich from earlier remained uneaten. Illya then stretched – as far as his bonds would allow – and asked, “Any chance of a meal?”

The guard shrugged. They both heard footsteps and exchanged a look. Illya lay back as Dr Egret came in. This time she had a trolley full of equipment.

“Have you decided to tell us where you left it?” enquired Dr Egret.

“Left what?”

Dr Egret sighed with irritation. “The item you picked up at Fort Tryon.”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“Mr Kuryakin, we have established that your memory has returned, so why play this foolish game?”

“Not a game. I don’t know what I did with whatever it was.”

“Then we will try something else,” and she began to attach electrodes to his forehead.

There was no point resisting, but Illya said, “This probably won’t work, you know that? And when can I have my clothes back?”

Dr Egret ignored him and wheeled the trolley closer. “Just lie back and listen to the voice,” she said putting earphones on him.

“Can I have my shirt and pants first? I’m cold.”

“Pathetic little man.” She jerked her head at the guard, “You there, go and fetch him some clothes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The guard left the room, retrieved Illya’s clothes and returned. He untied him and helped him to dress before returning to his post at the door. His only reward was a faint smile from Illya.

Dr Egret pushed him back against the pillow and started the machine. At first, all he could hear was a gentle whistling, then a quiet voice saying, “You will remember, you will remember,” over and over again. He sighed. Surely Thrush knew by now that he wasn’t susceptible to any kind of suggestion, and certainly wasn’t a good subject for hypnosis. Dr Egret bent over him and listened at his ear, which annoyed him. “This is very boring,” he said, “and it won’t have the effect you want.” He then closed his eyes and went to sleep – to the renewed amazement of his guard, who sympathised with his annoyance when Dr Egret slapped him awake again.

<><><><> 

Napoleon had crossed the river and was driving into Newark, having no very clear idea of where he ought to head for until he heard from headquarters. The women on the UNCLE switchboard had contacted the local police and described Illya, asking them to look out for a cab that was no cab and search their records for the potential owner of such a vehicle.

When his communicator beeped, he pulled in to answer it. An elderly lady in Forest Hill had seen what looked like a New York cab bringing a patient to a doctor’s address in the area. When he asked what had made the lady report it, it seemed she had seen the patient put up a fight when being dragged into the building by some big goon-type. She didn’t think it was very doctorly behaviour.

The blessing of nosy neighbours, Napoleon thought. He had just closed the communicator when it sounded again. This time the police had reported the same address for the owner of a yellow vehicle. Napoleon wondered what kind of hold Mr Waverly had on the New Jersey police that information could be requested and an answer received so quickly. He hoped they wouldn’t decide to get involved.

He wasn’t unfamiliar with Newark but didn’t know the address so it was chance that took him past it after a relatively short search. He parked up and walked back.    

<><><><> 

“I need the bathroom,” said Illya, annoyed at being wakened. The guard was once more summoned to take him. Some captors were more than happy to humiliate agents by letting them soil themselves; Dr Egret, however, was apparently fastidious. Illya was thankful for that at least but, this time, she said sharply to the guard, “Watch him, don’t stand outside.”

Well, he’d put up with that before and had chosen never to feel humiliated by any physical degradation – it wasn’t worth it. Illya’s pride in himself was of a different order and, in any case, tormentors degraded themselves more than him. This guard, however, had other views and felt the humiliation personally. Forgetting Illya’s reputation, he turned his back to give him privacy, which wasn’t the cleverest thing he could have done even with a prisoner as slight, effeminate, and weak as this one appeared to be at the moment…

<><> 

The bathroom door opened on an empty room. Illya came out alone but armed and dangerous. He tensed, hearing voices outside – but he recognised one and then Napoleon walked in, also armed and dangerous. He beamed at Illya and said, “I see you have things under control, partner.”

“You might like to put a sleep dart into the gentleman in the bathroom,” said Illya. “He’s sleeping at the moment, but he might wake. I didn’t want to hurt him too much – he’s been quite friendly, really.”

Napoleon walked over to the bathroom door and fired a single dart into a large posterior. “Now, are you OK? Who kidnapped you?”

“It’s Dr Egret again. She must have injected me with something – I didn’t even know who I was for a while.” There was no way Illya was going to mention how the contents of a sandwich had reawakened his sense of who he was. “She must be out there somewhere,” he said.

“There’s only a shrimp of a girl out there now. We’d better go and look for the good doctor.”

“She isn’t a good doctor,” Illya growled.

“I was speaking ironically, partner. She seems to have thoroughly messed you up. Let me see your eyes… yes, enlarged pupils… mm. Very sexy. I only get that look from girls, as a rule.”

Illya turned on a high-beam glare and was laughed at for his pains as Napoleon preceded him out of the room. A faded young woman with indeterminate hair colour was sitting at the desk outside. She looked up.

“Is the doctor around?” asked Napoleon. “My friend and I need to leave and we’d like to say goodbye.”

The young woman cowered, which surprised him till he realised that Illya was still armed and dangerous – he’d concealed his own gun when he saw the girl.

“Don’t worry, this isn’t for your benefit, Miss…? We just want to see the doctor.”

“She’s not here. She had to go see a patient suddenly.”

“Ah. Are you sure? Well, no doubt we’ll see her again sometime, someplace,” Napoleon said jauntily.

He caught Illya by the arm as he stumbled through the door and led him to the car, where he chose to lie down in the back and go to sleep again. Napoleon drove back to the garage at headquarters where he woke him. Illya sat up and stiffened suddenly. He reached down and picked up a rubber face mask and chestnut wig from the floor. “How..?” Illya sighed. “She must have seen you drive past,” he said and then had a dismal thought, “She must have been that girl in the outer office.”

“Not necessarily,” said Napoleon, “and even if she was, she will have gone by now. Come on, let’s go in and get you sorted out.”

They went first, much against Illya’s will, to Medical, where blood and other samples were taken before he was allowed to return with Napoleon to their office.

Napoleon sat down and said, “Now, tell me, what did you do with what you collected from the dead drop?”

Illya dropped into his own chair and clasped his hands to his face. “I don’t know, Napoleon. I can’t remember. Dr Egret didn’t believe me, but I really can’t.”

Napoleon smiled and opened a drawer of his desk. “It was in here,” he said, bringing out the newspaper Illya had been reading in the train. “Ken’s eldest saw you drop it when you were pushed into the cab, and he brought it in. It wouldn’t have occurred to anyone else to put it anywhere but in the trash.”

Accepting that with a blink, Illya said, “So… where did I leave it?”

“In the crossword, on the ‘I’ in 22 across: ‘Invasive plant’ 3 letters.”

“Of course!” Illya smacked his forehead, then he looked at Napoleon. “How did you find it, you’re lousy at crosswords?”

Napoleon flung the paper at him and said theatrically. “You wound me, Illya. I know lots of three-letter words.”

Illya’s response was 'unrepeatable', in four letters.

<><><><><>


End file.
